


An Apple Pie is Enough to Woo One's Heart

by GirlyTomboy



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Bakery AU, M/M, i dont even know, kenma loves him some apple pie, kuroo loves him some kenma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-23 01:03:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3749239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GirlyTomboy/pseuds/GirlyTomboy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kuroo finds it exceedingly hard to focus on his job at the bakery the more Kenma visits. He thinks there’s supposed to be something wrong with giving out free apple pies all willy-nilly to the boy, but hey, when life gives you lemons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Apple Pie is Enough to Woo One's Heart

The chiming of the bell signals Kuroo to a new customer. He looks up from the book in his hand to the door, where a fairly petite, short boy is timidly standing. His features are obscured by the hoodie he has on, its once bright red material now faded and wrinkled. Kuroo finds his interest piqued at the sight of this mysterious kid, the cryptic vibe he gives off oddly besotting to the older teen.

“Yo, welcome to the Kuroos’ Family Bakery. How may I help you?”

Kuroo watches intently with the same cheery smile on his face as the boy shuffles forward. He fidgets with the hem of his jacket, then the strings, then the material of his jeans. Nods once, twice, thrice, and carefully pulls down his hood to address Kuroo.

It is in that moment that the dark-haired teen tries to squash down the traitorous thump of his heart the moment Mystery Boy reveals his face, his faux blond hair with the roots already starting to show, his button nose, his bright, perspicacious eyes.

God, his eyes.

Kuroo is overwhelmed with the urge to just stare into them, because if he has the choice and time to (and if suddenly staring intensely into a stranger’s eyes isn’t considered weird and slightly insane at all), he totally will. No wonder the kid keeps his face hidden, Kuroo thinks. World wars could be fought over those pairs of glinting gold, and although that might be a bit of a stretch, _he_ certainly doesn’t think so.

He leans against his elbow absentmindedly, which is propped against the white register counter he works at almost everyday. His smile subconsciously turns a bit edgy, akin to a smirk. It’s a habit he’s been meaning to fix ever since his mother reprimanded him about it. The mystery kid sees this, and his eyes avert to the ground. Kuroo notices and feels the slightest bit guilty.

“Do you want something?”

_‘Of course the kid wants something. Why else would he be here?’_ He inwardly chastises. His nerves are starting to catch up to him, and the thought of a pair of utterly dazzling orbs that stared directly at him not even two seconds ago is not helping in the slightest.

“A-A… Apple p-pie…”

Kuroo barely manages to hear the words he stutters out, but quickly compensates for it by taking the order down at the speed of light. Before he even realizes it himself, he is handing the boy back his change and discarding the receipt. He tries his damn best not to flinch when the tips of their fingers touch during the process, the tiny spark that immediately shoots down his hand straight into the pits of his stomach hastily being ignored.

“I’ll be right back. Feel free to browse around or take a seat if you’d like,” Kuroo gestures to the tables littering the quaint place, before ducking past the door to the back of the bakery. He quickly finds his mom, and hands her the order.

“Mom, is there any fresh apple pie?”

“No, sorry Honey. But here,” she hands him the dessert and he carefully places it in the plastic container. There is a small air of disappointment surrounding her son that she notices, and with curiosity in her tone, “Did a customer specifically request for one?”

“No, not really,” Kuroo noncommittally replies, already halfway out the door with the box in his hands. His mom stares blankly at his back before shrugging, an oddly knowing look in her eyes once she is sure her son can’t sense her gaze on him.

“Sorry for the wait.” Kuroo says as he walks out. He spots the ombre head of hair near the windows. He is staring aimlessly out the window, hands resting idly on the table and a blue PSP sitting untouched. The tinny music that emits from the device goes ignored as a blank look crosses his face.

Kuroo takes to approaching the enigma that is this new customer of his, and gently rattles the contents of the container to garner the boy’s attention. “Your order’s ready,” he takes to a friendly smile, which comes out more as an awkward, completely suspicious smirk.

And then, curiously, “What’s your name?”

He pauses for a second or two. Kuroo places the container down in front of him.

“Ah. Kozume. Kozume… Kenma.”

“Well then, Kozume-san. Thanks for stopping by,” Kuroo quickly says when he sees the smaller boy stand up. “Come again,” he smiles.

Kenma’s stare lingers, the sagacious depths piercing deep within him. He doesn’t know whether to look away or get lost in those interminable orbs of brown and gold specks. As a result, Kuroo only coughs and diverts his attention to the ground when it is Kenma who breaks their one-sided staring contest first. “Mm. Yeah.”

When Kuroo looks up again, he is gone. The table is empty, and the only indication he was ever there in the first place is the chiming of the bell as he leaves.

* * *

“Ah. Kozume-san. Welcome.”

It is the first time in two weeks since Kenma’s previous visit to the bakery. Kuroo is wiping a table from the last customers’ visit, a young couple on what could only be their first date. When he sees Kenma nod in response, he can’t help the small smile that makes its way to his face. As the smaller boy approaches, Kuroo utters a quiet apology and a, “I’ll be right with you, Kozume-san.”

He neglects to inform Kenma of the way his heart leaps the teensiest bit and of the pleasant churning inside his belly when he catches sight of faux blonde tips in his peripheral. The dark-haired teen subtly quickens his process and thanks whatever deities are up there that this quiescent little cafe tucked cozily in the corner of some street is nowhere near as popular as the chain stores and restaurants he rarely ever visits.

Kuroo has a feeling Kenma wouldn’t have come if that is the case.

“Alright, sorry for the wait, Kozume-san. What would you like?” He asks, smoother this time. Gentler, without that unnerving smirk on his face (he’s been practicing).

“Mm,” Kenma hums. He doesn’t even bother to look at the chalk menu placed strategically near the counter before he replies, “An apple pie.” And then as an afterthought, “… please.”

Kuroo reiterates the order before taking the money Kenma hands out to him, all rumpled and looking like he just dug it out of the deepest depths of his back pockets. Kuroo doesn’t mind though, and efficiently hands back his change. He is careful not to accidentally touch him, irrationally afraid of the almost electrical heat that is sure to come. They make eye contact however, and he is reminded of their first meeting. The way Kenma had stared at him with such focus and concentration he was forced to look away. Back then, and even now, Kuroo, in all of his 188 centimeter glory and lean, built muscle, wants to hide. To duck, and avoid those penetrating eyes almost as much as he wants to stop and immerse himself in them forever.

Somewhere during the process of handing his mother the order and neatly boxing the pie (it’s fresh this time) Kuroo doesn’t even try to deny the fact that Kozume Kenma, some timid and awkward kid he’d barely met and hasn’t seen in half a month, is making him feel something he’s never felt before.Whether it’s good or bad (though he doubts anything as petite and frail-looking as Kenma could be considered criminal), he doesn’t yet know.

“Sorry for the wait, Kozume-san. Here, it’s fresh this time,” Kuroo says as he is handing the boy the dessert. He nods and gratefully takes it with two steady hands, fingers peeking out from his sleeves. The raven-head finds it absolutely adorable.

Kenma is two steps out the door when he looks over his shoulder, a small smile planted neatly on his face. His eyes sparkle in- was it mirth? Amusement?- and Kuroo takes a minute to realize that it is directed at him.

“It’s Kenma, by the way.”

Kenma is long gone by the time Kuroo snaps out of it and tries to upright himself in his haste to stop himself from tipping over on his stool because, _'Dammit, I am too old to be falling on my ass because a boy smiled at me.’_

* * *

The third time Kenma visits the bakery Kuroo is caught completely off-guard.

The moment he hears that familiar chime of the bell hell itself freezes over as he immediately stops whipping the towel above his head around. One leg is propped against the edge of a table, the other bent and carrying his weight as his back leans back awkwardly. He doesn’t know what to do with his free arm, and instead just keeps the closed fist near his open mouth, where the imaginary microphone he was using earlier has just miraculously disappeared (not that it was ever there in the first place).

He stares, mouth agape as a pair of painfully familiar eyes widen.

“Uh. Sorry… for disturbing you…” Kenma stutters out, and takes a step back.

_'Good job, me,’_ Kuroo sardonically thinks as he instantaneously rights himself if only to clear the misunderstanding. _'You just done fucked up in front of the one person who makes this job even remotely interesting.’_

“A-Ah. No, it was fine. Sorry… for subjecting you to such horror…” Kuroo lamely replies. His attempt to mitigate the situation- and save whatever pride he has left- backfires, however, as Kenma reprovingly frowns at his response. Something clenches in the teen’s heart when he sees what could only be disdain written all over his features.

Well, to be fair, it isn’t his fault they are literally minutes away from closing and the radio just so happened to be playing his favorite song.

“Don’t be sorry,” Kenma says. It is the second time that night he manages to catch Kuroo off-guard. “I don’t really care.” He shrugs, and Kuroo can’t help imagining himself grabbing hold of those dainty shoulders and just caressing them and touching them and-

Okay, that’s kinda weird.

“It’s late; were you about to close?” Kuroo nods in reply, only to shake his head after with a large grin. “I can make an exception though. Only if, you’re willing to stay?” Kenma sits down at the table he was just cleaning moments prior, PSP in hand and glances up with the largest doe-eyed look Kuroo has the unfortunate luck of seeing. The natural bedhead nearly rams himself into the counter in surprise.

Kenma’s eyes widen in slight concern and is already halfway out of his seat when Kuroo reassures him.

“A-Are you okay…? Did you… hurt yourself?” The blond haired teen begrudgingly takes a seat when a hand motions him to stop.

“Yeah. Yeah, yeah, no. I’m fine. Perfectly fine. My shoulder. It just twitched, is all. Yeah… Yeah.”

Smooth.

“So, you’re okay.”

_'No, I'm not okay. I'm a mess,’_ Kuroo internally frets. Outside however, he settles for a signature smirk and leans his arm on the counter for added measure. Kenma only raises a thin eyebrow. “What, were you worried?”

“Yes. I was.”

… Well, shit.

Kuroo can distinguish the exact moment he falls for Kenma right then and there, from the sudden stuffiness of the room to the entire presence that is able to stir something foreign within him with one pithy response, standing a mere foot away. He finds it strange because never in his seventeen short years of life has he ever felt this… intrigued by anyone, moreover a timid teen who likes to shrink in on himself as much as he likes playing those video games Kuroo sometimes sees on display.

It’s a good strange.

“Oh. Thank you. Do you, um, want the usual?” Despite saying this, he is already walking toward the back of the bakery, where his mother has already left. He hears a muffled, “Mm. Yeah. Just a slice.” as the blasé aroma of bread and dough waft throughout the area. Luckily, he finds the very last apple pie in the rows of remaining desserts and pastries, and quickly goes to cutting a fairly large piece and boxing it up.

“Here- Oh, you don’t need to pay. It’s free,” Kuroo stops Kenma just as he is reaching into his back pocket. Something flares in his large eyes when he is handed the clear box. “Wha- No, it’s okay. I-I’ll pay,” he insists, and hurries to hand him the rumpled money he’s already procured. Kuroo finds it ridiculously endearing.

Kenma suddenly freezes. There is a pink tint on his cheeks as he retreats behind his curtain of hair just in time for Kuroo to realize that he has just said it out loud.

Oops.

“A-Ah! No, I mean, you’re not. Wait, you are, b-but-”

This is it. This is it for him. Kenma’s never going to visit him ever again. He’s never going to buy apple pie from the bakery ever again. Might not even eat apple pie for the rest of his life all because of Kuroo. It’s all his fault. He won’t ever be able to see this cutie with his diffident self and nimble little hands and blue PSP ever again. Oh no, oh, oh no, what has he done-

“Pft,” Kenma quietly chuckles after a moment. It soon escalates into a fit of giggles, then laughter, as he holds his stomach and keels over. His countenance is practically radiating, the happiest and most carefree Kuroo’s ever witnessed from him. “Haha, no one’s ever told me that before. Thanks,” he casually wipes his eyes, effervescence still in his voice.

If Kuroo can fall any more in love with this precious little thing, he will.

Something still nags at him however, and a frown usurps the gentle smile that was there before.

“Really? No one? Not a single person?”

What is akin to offense fills the smaller boy’s eyes as the slightest pout forms on his face, and Kuroo only then realizes that his sudden barrage of questions might have hit a sensitive spot. “No, it’s not like that! It’s just that you’re so… Really? No one has ever called you endearing? Or cute? I’d see why they would,” he tries to justify, only to realize just a tad bit too late that, _'Woah, tiger, tone it down a bit.’_

Kenma’s cheeks darken from light pink to rose as he awkwardly shuffles back. The boy seems to be in deep thought as he absentmindedly stares down at the PSP in his hand, and cocks his head to the side to regard Kuroo again.

“Um. No, not really. I don’t get compliments that much,” he shrugs. The silence that ensues is neither tense nor lax, just an uncomfortable in-between as the respective teens mull over the words just spoken.

Part of Kuroo feels almost angry that no one’s ever seen Kenma the way he does or immediately thinks of him as nothing if not that weirdly shy nerd with the game in the corner of the room when he himself can’t help but revel in how someone could be so utterly cute and down-to-earth the very first time he’s ever laid eyes on him.

The other part of Kuroo is giddy at the prospect of getting to know Kenma, and the aspects that make him… well, him. He can’t recall where this desire came from, or when. Just that Kenma piques his interest, and he might as well use any advantage he can get to quell this weird (entirely not obsessive, he swears) curiosity of his.

“Well, you should. Everyone needs some positivity in their lives. But anyways, I insist, you don’t have to pay. This is what’s left over from today; it’d be a waste to just throw it away later. No, Kenma, you honestly don’t have to, I’m not going to take your money,” as he pushes away Kenma’s insistently extended hand.

They both frown at each other, and Kuroo pins him with that reproving look he always reserves for the particularly stubborn. Kenma surprisingly acquiesces. He watches as the money disappears back into his back pocket, and he is once again gratefully accepting the box.

If Kuroo has already realized he was calling Kenma by his first name, he is doing a damn well nice job of belying the euphoric thump of his heart with suave smirks and chivalrous gestures- or attempts, at the very least.

Instead of turning on his heels and walking out like he always does, however, Kenma shows no sign of leaving. Quite the opposite actually, when he opens the box and stares expectantly at Kuroo, like what he is insinuating is the most obvious thing in the world. “Would you… like to join me…?”

Kuroo tilts his head in confusion. His ambivalent feelings of both wanting to take a seat and insisting Kenma be on his way before it gets too late nags at him.

“…”

“… Um? If that’s… too much…”

_'Aw, what the heck,’_ he thinks as he pulls a chair beside the, from the looks of it, younger teen, but not before grabbing two forks from the little station near the counter.

They settle down and Kenma takes the first bite with a small, “Thanks for the food.” Kuroo follows soon after. The tranquil ambiance that surrounds the two quickly go to envelop the entire place, one he is used to yet at the same time isn’t because there is a delicious thrum in his chest and a roar in his ears every time he sneaks a peak at the ombre-haired frequenter.

And then Kuroo remembers something extremely important.

So important he mentally facepalms himself for being such an idiot at the same time he is gratefully thanking Kenma in his mind for not calling him out on it. “My name is Kuroo Tetsurou, by the way. Sorry, for not mentioning it before.”

Kenma only looks up in acknowledgment before stuffing another piece in his mouth. There is contemplation in his eyes as he chews thoughtfully. “No, it’s fine,” he dismisses. “Kuroo… Tetsurou… It suits you.”

There it is. That small upward tilt of Kenma’s lips and the crinkle of rich brown, gold-specked eyes that could enrapture and seduce even the most withdrawn and stubborn. Not to mention the way his name rolls so smoothly on his tongue it nearly gives Kuroo shivers. He really sees why Kenma doesn’t talk nearly as much as he should; the kid’s voice is one of the most melodious his ears have ever come across in a long while (after his mother, of course).

“O-Oh. Thanks.”

Kuroo mentally groans because it has been almost one whole month now and he doesn’t think he will ever stop being nervous around Kenma with which the rate he is going at. However, although sometimes he curses his miraculously sudden lack of social skills when the particular large-eyed, ombre-haired teen is involved, he cannot imagine his life sans the job he has at this small, Mom and Pop bakery in the corner of some random street.

How else is he able to talk to Kozume Kenma, the most intriguing person he’s ever had the pleasure of meeting?

(Even if 'talking’ comprises of awkward remarks and incessant stuttering.)

“Do you want the last piece?” Kenma’s voice breaks in. Kuroo is snapped out of his daze when he realizes that time has passed way too quickly for his liking and there is indeed, only one piece left. He fervently shakes his head with a, “No, it’s yours. You can eat it.” Kenma of course complies, because to the older boy, it is easy to read the minute shifts of his expressions, the subtle hints that fail to belie his feelings.

And if there is one thing Kenma is feeling, it’s apple pie.

“Haha, eager, huh? Don’t worry, I’ll clean up for you,” Kuroo says. Not surprisingly, Kenma shoots up the moment Kuroo offers and takes quick strides to the trashcan, where nimble fingers discard the empty container faster than he can blink, and doesn’t forget to grab both forks in the process. There is a sliver of pride and defiance swirling in his large eyes.

Kuroo only sticks his tongue out and wipes the crumbs off his lap.

“Nice try, but who do you think has to take the trash out after this? And wipe the table? And see you out? And close the-”

“Fine, fine, you win,” Kenma pouts. His gaze diverts to the ground in chagrin- something Kuroo can’t tell is either adorable or worrying- and scuffs his feet against the tile floor. “Then…” he suddenly starts.

“I’ll help you out,” and Kenma is yanking the towel from the belt loops of Kuroo’s black pants and is noncommittally wiping the already clean table. Kuroo wants to protest, to argue and push this dear, cute teen out of the bakery and insist on it because Dammit, Kenma is a valued customer and the thought of making him do any labor of some sort for himself is absolutely intolerable.

“Wha- No, I got it, you don’t ha-”

“Too late.”

Alright, then.

“Consider it even, for the pie… Thanks…”

“…Okay.” Kuroo stares at Kenma for a little bit longer than what is considered normal, before he releases a small sigh and a shrug of his shoulders. The room is instantaneously engulfed in silence, where the only sounds inside the small bakery are two pairs of light footfalls and the occasional fabric wiping against wood or glass.

It’s tranquil, serene. The most complete Kuroo’s feeling in a while.

Kenma is the first one to break the silence. Or rather, his phone is when the drone of the vibrating device catch both of their attention. It’s not long before his naturally reticent voice is responding to whoever is on the other side. A woman, most likely his mother, Kuroo notes. “Mm. Yes. Okay.” The brevity of his tone contrasts with the lackadaisical way he hangs up and slips his phone in his pocket, almost dawdling a bit as he shuffles awkwardly. It’s cute, and so typically Kenma.

“Gotta leave? Sorry for keeping you,” Kuroo says apologetically. His fairly new acquaintance nods, and then shakes his head at the apology. He murmurs something along the lines of a protest before he is deftly handing the towel over. Some hesitance lingers in how he prevaricates for time, the small glance he shoots at Kuroo, his mouth opening only to incoherently stutter.

“W-Well, see you, Kuroo,” Kenma bids. Kuroo has half a mind to watch his retreating back when he realizes something.

“Are you sure you wanna go out alone, Kenma? It’s already dark, and I don’t want to take any risks. If you’d like I can go with-”

“My mom’s here. Really… It’s fine,” Kenma interrupts, vaguely uncomfortable. He slips on his hood and points a slender finger outside, to where a set of car lights illuminate the outside block.

The bell is already chiming when Kuroo looks back at Kenma, his form slipping through the door and a hand held up to wave back at the dark-haired teen.

“Bye, Kuroo.”

One second turns to two, and then three, and then thirty. Kuroo puts down the hand he doesn’t even realize he’s had up this entire time.

* * *

The fourth time Kenma visits the bakery he is sporting a broken arm and a bandaged forehead.

There isn’t really a routine he follows when visiting the bakery. Kuroo just knows when he does. And right from the moment he hears the bell ring, he can just tell that the bad premonition, that lining of doubt he’s felt ever since this morning will show itself. Just, not in the form of an injured Kenma, clothes dirtied and puffy eyes bloodshot.

“K-Kenma…” He is at a loss whether to ask or not, for fear of prying too much into Kenma’s life; he doesn’t know his situation nor him enough to ask, hell, for all he knows Kuroo is still that employee at the register and Kenma is the occasional customer who visits.

“Wha- You can sit down… if you like,” he suggests when Kenma shrinks further within himself. His eyes never once leave the ground, and although that is usually normal of Kenma, today it makes him look vulnerable. Helpless. Alone.

Except, he isn’t.

Not when there’s Kuroo Tetsurou standing right in front of him. Not when his eyes are glossing over from unshed tears and he’s gripping his own hand so tightly his knuckles are turning white. Not when he’s feigning nonchalance like it doesn’t affect him, like it’s normal.

Because it isn’t.

Kuroo sighs. “Mom’s on her lunch break right now. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind,” he says as he disappears behind the flaps leading to the back of the bakery. When he returns with a steaming apple pie in his hand- not wrapped up for once- Kenma has taken a seat. Even the gaming device so zany of him is nowhere to be found, he sourly notes.

“Here, eat up.” The pie is shoved in front of Kenma, fork and knife subsequently following. Somewhere behind the pain and despondence in his eyes there is a sparkle the moment he sees the dessert before him. Kuroo notices. _'Of course I would.’_

He takes a seat himself, a thoughtful expression on his face as he meets Kenma’s gaze. He quickly averts it and pulls the hood he has on further down his mussed head when their eyes meet. In doing so, however, he fails to see the older frown at the action.

“… Kenma, do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Then eat. Here, my treat,” he replies just as fast. Kenma is hesitant, he can tell, but he isn’t fooling anyone, least of all Kuroo when the raven-head can clearly see the way his fingers twitch and his nose crinkle at the sight and aroma of the newly prepared apple pie. When he takes the fork, Kuroo smirks. “Does it still hurt anywhere? Are you thirsty? You’re still in your uniform; did school end for you?” He is rambling, but at this point he doesn’t really care. He doubts Kenma does too, what with the timid little pokes he makes at the pie and his dazed expression.

“No, really…”

“Liar.”

“I’m not lying!” Kenma straightens in his seat, banging his closed fist on the table with a dull thud. His eyes widen just a bit, the pupils dilating as the intonation of his voice rises, not loud enough to cause a commotion but enough to startle Kuroo in his midst. “Kenma…?”

Kenma’s outburst has the opposite effect of what he intends, and they both know it. Kenma shifts his gaze from Kuroo to the pie to his shoes, where he scuffs the floor distractedly. “… Sorry,” he mumbles. A palpably tense moment passes.

“Kenma, can you look at me?” Kuroo’s gentle tone surprises even himself, one he has no prior knowledge of using on anyone other than his family, and even then, his mother. He loathes the cringe-worthy taste that forms on his tongue at seeing someone so helpless, especially with him being so so close too. “Ken-”

“Some guys... at school…”

Kenma doesn’t finish that sentence, doesn’t need to when it’s clear as day who did this to him. Kuroo sees a brilliantly white flash of anger before it disappears in a split second, replaced by Kenma’s downcast face and watery eyes. The look doesn’t suit him.

“Yesterday… they cornered me. And today… they broke… my PSP…” Kenma trails off. His voice rises in pitch towards the end, and he chokes a little bit at the recollection. “My mom thinks I’m still at that’s placed on the table. The underlying guilt and fear in his every word, every action, is enough to figuratively smack Kuroo right in the balls.

As commonplace as it is, Kuroo doesn’t have any experience with bullying. Sure, there’s the occasional taunt, maybe an insult about his perpetual bedhead, but it rarely resorts to physical injury. Not like with Kenma. Not at all like with Kenma.

All of a sudden, Kuroo finds himself wishing that isn’t the case, and that if he could just magically donate some of his height and maybe part of that devious smirk of his to the smaller boy, he would do so in a heartbeat. And maybe some 'injuries-begone’ potions because to be perfectly honest, the sight of Kenma’s broken arm is starting to freak him out a bit. Just a little.

"Well, you’re free to stay here if you want. We rarely get customers this hour anyways and- holy shit, are you crying? What?! What’d I do?! Kenma, I’m sorry!” Because if this angel in disguise coming into the bakery looking like he escaped getting mauled by a lion isn’t enough, he just has to burst out crying right smack in the middle of Kuroo’s horrid attempt at consolation with no rational explanation whatsoever and absolutely no idea that Kuroo’s heart is splintering into a thousand pieces the more he is forced to look at him.

And Kuroo has no fucking idea what to do.

The teen abruptly stands up and loudly scrapes his chair against the floor in the process. He is left uselessly flailing his arms around Kenma’s general vicinity for an agonizing moment before Kuroo finally has the courage to cross the distance between Kenma and him. He gently takes a seat adjacent to the now sniffling boy.

Although silent, the tiny sobs wracking Kenma’s body and running the length of his spine are still quite prominent, and he curls in on himself in a futile attempt to stop his sudden outburst. He doesn’t know why himself, just that at this very moment Kuroo has a hand rubbing smooth circles on his back and he is close enough to smell the musky scent of light cologne.

“Sh… Sh… It-It’s okay, Kenma…” Kenma acquiesces to the comforting whisper, and leans into the hand on his back. He hastily ignores the immediate stiffening of the teen beside him in lieu of attempting to steady his incessant hiccuping.

It’s pathetic. He’s pathetic.

“Don’t you _dare_ say that again.” It’s Kenma’s turn to be rendered speechless when Kuroo hastily grabs him by the shoulders and whirls him in his seat. His already addled mind soon forgets the fact that he has just whispered one of his worst fears aloud when he comes face to face with a pair of sharp, onyx obs.

Kuroo’s expressive eyes are penetrating, though sans the accusation Kenma’s used to seeing when such a gaze is directed at him. Instead, they are filled with something else; something much more foreign to the boy, aside from the anger. Anger he instinctively knows is not aimed at him. It’s a bit silly, Kenma thinks, for Kuroo to get so worked up over a boy he’s met the entirety of only four times, but if it’s able to stop the self-deprecation he is so accustomed to relentlessly hurling on himself, he figures something must be working.

“I don’t know your circumstances, but how long has this been going on? If anything, those bastards that did this to you are more pathetic than you’ll ever be,” he matter-of-factly says. He lets go of Kenma’s shoulders, and although the ombre-haired teen misses the immediate lack of touch (strange that the Kozume Kenma is longing human contact for once), he is grateful for a chance to slump back in his seat again, because if he is forced to stare directly into those pitch-dark eyes anymore he doesn’t know what he’ll do.

“Eh… Quite recently, actually…”

“ _Kenma._ ”

He flinches. “… Since junior high…”

“… Why didn’t you tell anyone?” Kuroo questions, voice soft. He doesn’t miss the tight grip Kenma has on the elbow of his broken arm, nor the small cinch of his eyebrows as he no doubt relives some of his darker moments. “… I didn’t want to trouble anyone.”

“You’re not troubling anyone!” Kuroo passionately bursts out, a wild, almost defiant look in his eyes. “Kenma, you’re suffering. Just look at you; they broke your arm. Hell,” Kuroo stands. “We’ll march right to them if we have to.” He places a hand on the table, an ephemeral reminder that there is at least one person on his side. Kenma thinks one person is more than enough.

“Kuroo, it’s okay-”

“But it’s not, Kenma. Hold on, I’ll ask Mom for a break so-” Kuroo stops when there is a tug on his sleeve.

“Violence won’t do anything. It’s fine, because Kuroo is here with me.”

"..."

Kenma might as well have proposed; he practically said Kuroo was needed, Kuroo was welcome, Kuroo was enough. No one’s ever had the guts or the inclination to say such to the dark-haired teen. No one. Ever.

“So sit down… please…” Kenma mumbles as he reverts his attention back to his shoes. Kuroo stares at him for a long, tense moment before relenting with a sigh.

(And plus, he has a feeling rushing a bunch of high school kids still in class all guns blazin’ while swearing them out is only going to exacerbate the situation all the more. He doesn't need Kenma to come in more injured than he already is.)

“On one condition,” Kuroo says. He sees Kenma’s eyes poke out from the gap of his hood.

“Eat your damn pie first. It’s getting cold.”

“…”

“…”

“… Pft.”

Kenma giggles, and Kuroo feels a sense of deja vu watching him laugh, and it is the most amazing thing that’s happened all day. “Yes, mom,” he playfully rolls his eyes and finally picks up the fork and knife he has abandoned to cut himself a slice. He cuts another one, to which he offers to the teen worker and he gratefully accepts. They eat in silence, and what Kenma doesn’t finish he has Kuroo box up for him.

“Satisfied, aren’t ya? Do you want me to walk you out?”

“It’s fine. Thank you, Kuroo.” Kuroo has an inkling Kenma’s words carry a lot more weight than he is letting on, but decides to let it slide just this once. “See ya, then.” An ombre-haired head bobs up and down in affirmation.

Kenma stands up to his full height and stretches with his free arm, very much like an oversized (but not really since he is so damn petite) feline. Albeit the smile on his lips is very subtle, it’s genuine. Probably the first real smile he’s had this entire week. Kuroo swells with pride and the slightest parts relief.

“Bye-bye, Kuroo.”

Kenma disappears the blink of an eye, like he always seems to be doing around him. When Kuroo looks down, there is a folded bill on the table, and irritation lines his face. He resists banging his head into the wall.

* * *

“Oi, get outta the way!”

“No! _I_ will get the last yakisoba bread!”

“Puh-lease. Bitch, move.”

Kuroo sighs for the nth amount that day. School is a killer, his headache is a killer, and it’s only lunch time. He eyes Lev near the crowded line, where he is unknowingly smacking students and faculty alike in his journey to the front, and Yaku, who is clinging onto his back for dear life whilst simultaneously pulling at his hair.

Honestly, he isn’t surprised.

“Hey lovebirds, we’ll be on the roof.” Kuroo informs. It goes ignored, the buzz of chatter and enthusiastic students overwhelming his voice. Oh well, they’ll find them eventually. He starts to languidly make his way down the hall, where he knows his bubbly fuckwads of volleyball friends are impatiently waiting for him near the staircase leading to rooftop. He sighs.

A flash of black and blond passes by. Kuroo freezes in his spot.

_'No… can’t be.’_

The teen spins on his heels and starts heading back into the cafeteria, the only way anyone could have came from. He’s being ridiculous, Kuroo thinks. There’s absolutely no way. No fucking way; it’s been almost a month since his last visit. It’s all just wishful thinking. Yeah, wishful thinking…

But what if?

Kuroo turns the corner leading into the large cafeteria area. His hawk-like eyes scan the entirety of the room. Not a speck of ombre even remotely anywhere.

“Yeah right. Of course he’s not-”

_'There,’_ his mind traitorously whispers.

In the midst of a hundred plus students Kuroo latches onto a single one- small stature, blue cast, and a pair of the largest, most brilliant eyes he’s ever seen. The student’s head bobs up and down with the flow of the lunch line, and his figure is swallowed up by the impeding crowd. Still, he sticks out like a sore thumb.

“ _Kenma,_ ” he breathes.

And all of a sudden, he feels the weight of the world crashing against him. Ironically, it is the most elevated sensation he will ever come to know, following the indubitable revelation that _'Kenma is here. He’s here and so, so close.’_

Kuroo resists yelling out his name and opts to inconspicuously sneak closer to the boy- which, he soon realizes, is quite a feat in itself considering he is eighty percent lean muscle, 188 centimeters, and has hair that looks like a bird tried to nest in it. And failed.

It’s not impossible, however, and Kuroo manages to glide to the front of the crowd after casually uttering apologies to the various people he accidentally pushed out of the way. He didn’t bother with the people he intentionally pushed out of the way. When Kenma’s ombre head of hair comes into view, so close Kuroo can just reach out and card his fingers through the silky strands, he refrains. The larger teen only keeps a close eye on him, even as he almost loses sight of him or sees him getting pushed aside in the hectic mess of bodies and limbs. It is when Kenma approaches the front, only to frown when he reaches into his pockets just to pull out air that he decides to intervene.

“Two melon bread, please.” A cheery grin is stretched across Kuroo’s face, and he revels in the sudden rigidity of the younger boy’s shoulder pressed against his own. When he hands the money over in return for two plastic-encased pastries, he swears the intensity of Kenma’s stare is tangible to the point where he’ll be physically trapped if he were to move.

He directs his gaze downward, where two shining pools of gold and rich brown await him. Kuroo pushes one bag into Kenma’s hand. “Payback, from the last time you visited. It was my treat, y'know.”

“But it’s your mom’s bakery.”

True, true.

“I told you, she didn’t mind. Let’s go somewhere else, I don’t want anyone else’s nasty sweat fumes rubbing all over me,” Kuroo chimes.

“Hey!”

“Take that back!”

“Um. Excuse you.”

When Kuroo deems the area secluded enough he looks over his shoulder, where a slightly panting Kenma trails behind him. “You okay?” he asks. “No.” is the immediate reply. He laughs wholeheartedly. Kenma glares.

“I had thought you disappeared after you stopped coming for a while, Kenma,” he says. The evenness of Kuroo’s voice surprises even him; he is positively sure even Kenma can hear the furious slamming of his heart against his ribcage and the chaotic swarm of butterflies in his stomach the longer he lays eyes on him.

“Well…” Kenma breaks in, and Kuroo snaps out of his reverie. “I told my mom. She was… furious, to say the least. The guys at my school got expelled and she yelled at the principal and made him apologize to me,” he blanches at the mention. The raven-head tries to stifle his chuckle, but to no avail. “Then she said I could transfer, to wherever I wanted to go. I picked Nekoma… and… here I am…” It’s one of the few times he’s heard him talk so much, and Kuroo can’t help wanting to hear more of Kenma’s lovely voice.

“Yup, here you are,” he mockingly pipes in. Kenma pouts and narrows his eyes. “Geez, I was just joking Kenma. I’m glad. Really, I am,” he sighs blissfully. He cracks an eye open from when he closed them in his laughter to regard the smaller boy.

His stare is once again directed at the pristine, tiled hallway. A light pink is dusting the tips of his ears. He finds it typical of him. “Haha, you’re cute when you’re like that.”

“What is that supposed to mean…” Kenma mumbles out, his head retreating further into the collar of the Nekoma uniform. “Hm? Nothing at all,” Kuroo dismisses. He ignores the half-protest that emits from his new companion to push him toward the direction of the roof. “C'mon, I have some friends I wanna introduce to you. They’re pretty nice. You probably won’t like them, but they’re pretty nice.”

“Oh, and tell me when you’re feeling uncomfor-”

“Kuroo.” 

Kuroo turns to look at Kenma.

“Huh? What is it?”

“Thank you.”

“…”

“Of course.”

* * *

The fifth time Kenma visits the bakery he comes in with Kuroo. There is a brand new PSP in his hand, the sound of buttons being rapidly pushed overwhelming the tinny battle music. Beside him, Kuroo is amiably chatting away. At first glance, the taller teen looks as if he’s being ignored. At fourth or fifth glance, Kenma looks to be subtly smiling every time a funny story is being retold, or Kuroo says something endearing about his mother, or when he’s expressing his love for volleyball.

“Aw, honey, did you make a new friend?” Kuroo’s mom’s head pops out from the back of the store. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Kozume… Kenma,” Kenma tentatively replies. Even with the larger teen right next to him, his perpetual diffidence is still present in the littlest of words and actions. Kuroo doesn’t mind, though. His mother doesn’t either. “Ehh… So pretty. It suits you, Kenma-kun.”

“… Thanks.”

“So, Tetsu, when should I bake the wedding cake?”

“Mom!”

“Jeez, I was only joking.”

“…”

“No I’m not.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah. Um. Yeah....... Yes. Yes. That is how one does.
> 
> (No it's not I'm incredibly sorry...)


End file.
